


Fill It Up Again

by gfzoda



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Also there's a lot of musing about Belladonna and Bungo, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And Thorin is conscious of his actions, Bilbo is a stress!baker, Bilbo is bitter, Multi, Reincarnation, this turned out more pre-slash-ish than expected
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 13:23:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1120323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gfzoda/pseuds/gfzoda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In current times, Thorin and Bilbo remember who they were and are somehow, against all odds, able to sit down and talk about it like adults. The results are a bit mixed, but still good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fill It Up Again

**Author's Note:**

> What was supposed to be a 1,000 word rambling about the Thilbo reincarnation trope became 4,000+ words of pastries and awkward babies. It was an interesting exercise in dialogue (which I suck at and apologize in advance for) and adding my two cents into the reincarnation/Modern AU world. Also! The title was taken from an Indigo Girls song "Fill It Up Again" which is fan-friggin'-tastic.

Bilbo Baggins had come back as William “Bilbo” Baggins, who was York born-and-raised with an upbringing split between his uptight father and free spirit of a mother. The two were the happiest couple despite their oddities within the Bag End subdivision that Burt Baggins himself had designed and his family financed as a sort of engagement present for Belladonna Took. Belladonna came from a very rich, very large family that was just as eclectic as it was expansive. As a prominent figure in the hippie movement in the late 60’s, she was a mix of fiery, explorative, and unfailingly amiable towards any and everyone that would extend the same courtesy to her. She was often seen decked in flowing clothing and literal flowers braided into her hair, and despite her warm demeanor, had been known to simply _grill_ anyone who so much as insinuated that she was something that she was not.

Burt Baggins was almost completely opposite, with a tight-knit family of real estate developers, a permanent tie around his neck, and a personality that ranged from stilted to incredulous, he and Belladonna had met when she was staging a protest against a development that his family had been organizing on a wooded area near the town she lived. She had pulled him away to try to convince him that these acres were important to the community once she saw him trying to finalize the placements of streets around the sizable crowd she had rallied up.

Burt was taken with her immediately and promised to do everything in his power to move the site of the development. He succeeded, securing his place in the company as a respectable go-to for conflict when initiating projects, proving himself a proficient architect, and gaining the friendship of Belladonna. Five years and a slow courtship that ended in the building of Bag End later, the two were Happily Married by the spring of 1972.

Their relationship did, in fact, warrant the capitalization due to the fact that while they were prone to bickering when Burt stuck too closely to his “good old sensibilities” (as Bella would sigh) or Bella got too ahead of herself in whatever project she made for herself, they were ridiculously good with each other.

Six years into their marriage, Bella gave birth to their only child, William Baggins and the trio settled into domesticity. However at the age of 58, Burt passed away quite suddenly from a heart attack leaving behind his wife and son. Bella followed him 18 years later after losing a brief battle with pancreatic cancer. She had not remarried since Burt’s passing and instead had taken up activism and travel with a new vigor. The brief time that she had been on bed rest during her last few months had been miserable for so many reasons. It quickly became obvious that despite her love for her son and the life she had made for herself, she simply had to go. And despite all of his bitterness, Bilbo understood.

And Bilbo then was alone with a few family members and friends to keep him company in the house he inherited. His writing career had taken off since he moved back home and found more free time to put his ideas to paper, so he was making some money despite the fact that he could have probably lived off of the money that his parents had left behind. But his days were mostly quiet, and he was content with that. Despite his new-found quiet lifestyle, there was something odd going on with him.

It started over small things, things that were barely noticeable. The way the light glinted off the green of his door or the color of the tomatoes in his garden gave him pause. The faces of his neighbors or those at the farmer’s market he frequented seemed like they were more familiar than they actually were. His fingers would occasionally seek out the simple ring that he had purchased on a whim from a shady antique dealer (who quite frankly looked like more of a heroin addict than anything) and slip it on and off like he was expecting something to happen.

And then Elrond, his editor, had gifted him four red journals bound in dyed leather and filled with hand-made paper, and things took a turn towards bizarre.

Delighted with the quality of the present, Bilbo had hurried to his study with the blank volumes in hand, already planning out what he was going to do with the journals. One he would devote to a diary which he had been meaning to get around to, another he would give to his nephew once he came of age (Frodo was sure to appreciate the book’s quality), and the last two he would use for notes on his adventures with the dwarves-

Bilbo slowed to a stop in the hallway. His editor and publisher both had urged him to try writing some fantasy a few months ago, and Bilbo had agreed to stray from his normal slice-of-live nook mostly to get them to stop nagging at him. Why his brain had jumped at the idea of recording this small project in these new volumes, he did not know. To be honest, he hadn’t the slightest idea on where to start with the request and to have an idea strike him like that so casually was very odd indeed.

“It’s of no bother.” he murmured to himself, staring down at the empty books. “Besides, the best writing comes naturally. I should follow through on this; no harm done.”

And Bilbo wrote for days on end. It was by far the fastest novel he had ever written. Words tumbled from his fingers and quickly his book began to hold the story of a Halfling taking a grand adventure, outwitting his way through enemies of all sizes, and doing things that were almost unfathomable to him hear the beginning of his story. There were days when Bilbo would almost forget to eat (a rare occurrence indeed considering the delight he took in cooking _and_ eating) because the words just flowed from him in a way that had not happened before. 

In addition to this, his dreams became startlingly lucid and always depicted exactly what he had written that day, but in greater detail and minor adjustments. When he wasn’t writing, his trips into déjà vu were become more frequent and stronger. By the time he had finally finished his final copy of his book, it had become His Adventure, his favorite piece of work yet despite its relative simplicity and short length. Something in him just connected to each word of every passage and he felt as if this was nothing but his own story.

That night his dreams were empty.

The following day, everything changed. He woke up expectant for absolutely nothing at all. His restlessness persisted the entire day, despite the calming morning he spent out on his porch and the pleasant tea time he had with his neighbor, Mr. Gamgee. He was constantly fidgeting with anything on hand, reaching for items that he didn’t have tucked into his belt, waiting for an unknown knock on his door, and craving a cigarette even though he stopped smoking back in college. That night he fixed himself a fillet of tilapia, and just as he was wringing out a slice of lemon over his dinner with more force then was strictly necessary, it hit him.

It hit him with enough force to force him to sit down as his knees turned to jelly. It was enough for him to stare into space with what he knew was a look of abject horror and despair. It was enough that he stayed like that long after his meal had gone cold and his old clock chimed midnight.

_He was Bilbo Baggins of Bag End. And he was the Halfling he had been writing._

The memories came all at once, and unbidden so they took quite a while to process and sift through. Needless to say, Bilbo was lucky that he did not pass out from the sudden influx of new information.

And when the sun began to peek over the surrounding rooftops, Bilbo made his way to bed in a bit of a daze and slept until the next day had started. By the time he crawled out of bed that time, he knew what he needed to do.  
\-----  
Thorin Durin was not a character that attracted acts of charity. Between his well-tailored suits and naturally tall and broad figure, he was often considered intimidating upon appearance. The fact that he was stiff in conversation around even his nephews and their mother only enforced the idea that he was to be approached for business alone. Upon taking up leadership of his family’s corporation once his father had gotten too caught up in early-onset Alzheimer’s to be trusted at such a high position, whatever free time that he could have used to enrich his relationships became severely limited, if not nonexistent.

Regaining the memories of what was apparently his past life a few years after that had only complicated matters. It had struck him while he was, strangely enough, checking over a few summaries of Erebor Inc.’s gross profit from the last quarter. It had been late, almost ten in the evening, and his feeling of satisfaction over the increases had taken on a life of their own and soon he was overcome by memories of fire and gold and a battle that he could tell was all _his_ fault. It wasn’t what you’d call a pleasant experience.

His sister had found him asleep on the sofa in his office the next day and did him the favor of clearing the schedule and sending him home for a day of rest despite his protests.

But after a day of digestion, Thorin was ready to deal with the world again. His family had foiled Dravyn Smaug’s hostile takeover of Erebor Inc. when he was still in primary school, and Azog had been arrested for Thorin’s grandfather’s assassination when he was in his teens. Thorin’s family was safe, and all of the dwarves in the Company were accounted for. He had nothing to fear.

There were times when he wanted to seek out their burglar, especially when his nephews and Bofur (all of which worked in the mail room) showed signs of also knowing. But just remembering how Thorin had dishonored Bilbo quickly made him retract the idea in guilt. He loved the Halfling as a confidante, as a travelling companion, and as a friend, and he had betrayed Bilbo for his own greed before their relationship could go any further. The thought alone was enough to make Thorin grind his teeth. No, he was not in a position to make Bilbo suffer his presence.

And then this package had arrived. His secretary left it on his desk and when he asked, all they said was that Bofur had said that he would take a great interest in it. Quickly dismissing the return address as unfamiliar, Thorin deftly ripped open the envelope to reveal a red book, and an expensive-looking one by the state of the binding. Opening the book, he found a small note, written on yellow legal paper in spidery lettering.

_Mr. Oakenshield,_  
I hope this letter finds you in good health and sound mind. I think this book might be of interest to you. Please don’t feel obligated to respond.  
-B  
PS- Thank your lucky stars that your name is so unique. I could not identify the others for certain. 

Squinting slightly, Thorin puzzled over the note, before looking for the title of the book. “There and Back Again…” he muttered and hurriedly flipped past the title page. At the first sentence, his breath stopped.

“ _In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit…”_

_Bilbo._  
\-----  
It had been five days since Bilbo sent the package to Thorin and already he was going out of his mind. The way that Bilbo saw it, there were three outcomes to this scenario. Thorin could not remember what Bilbo had been trying to remind him of with his book, and he would dismiss his original manuscript as junk mail. Thorin could remember all that had transpired between them and never want to contact Bilbo again (even though Bilbo knew what he had done was right). And lastly, Thorin could remember Bilbo, seek him out and then god only knows how _that_ would play out.

Bilbo did not know how he felt about Thorin to be honest. He was a dear friend, and even when he had “betrayed” Thorin, he had only done what he felt was right. Bilbo felt more bitterness than he cared to admit about the way he had been cast aside, but more than anything the years that followed his friends’ deaths was what tore at him. Bilbo had been left alone to travel back to the Shire, with nothing more to show for his adventures than a modest chest of gold, a letter opener, and different clothes on his back than he had started out with. (Bilbo did not count his magic ring in that due to the fact that it was the artifact that was set to bring an end to all of the Free Peoples and Middle-Earth and all of that hullabaloo.) Bilbo had almost no friends to show for his time away because they were either so far away, dead, or had only become his friends again on their deathbed. So yes, Bilbo was bitter and anxious and had no idea what to do with himself.

With these thoughts spinning around his head, Bilbo had been stress-cooking for the past three days, as he was wont to do. To be completely honest, it was to the point that he was running out of counter space to set the number of pastries that he had made. Maybe his neighbors would appreciate a dessert tasting brunch he could throw together or… something. The doorbell knocked him from his thoughts, and as he bustled towards the entryway. He had asked Mr. Gamgee to come by today and take some of these sweets home to his impressive brood of children; goodness knows they all needed the sugar rush.

Taking a few moments to hang his apron on the hat stand next to the door, Bilbo looked back and was slightly mortified to see that he had left flour footprints from the kitchen to where he was standing now. Hamfast would certainly know that he was stressed and pull the “Now William…” tone of voice with him. Preparing himself, for the oncoming lecture, Bilbo opened his door to the friendly visage of his neighbor.

“Hamfast,” Bilbo smiled and stepped off to the side, ignoring a strange twist of disappointment in him. “I have something that your kids might appreciate.” Hamfast breezed past Bilbo, stopping to take off his boots and knock the snow from them. Bilbo looked out onto his front lawn which was now under a good two inches of snow. He hadn’t even realized it had started snowing since he checked his mail earlier in the morning. Shutting the door, Bilbo silently padded after the chattering Hamfast, who had just stepped into the kitchen and paused upon seeing just how much Bilbo had been baking over the past few days and was gearing up for a good-natured lecture on how “I swear Mr. Baggins, if you were this worried about something you could have told me, but you with your secrecy- I swear, your father was exactly the same.”  
\-----  
It was 4:35PM and after a long and winding conversation with Hamfast about his garden the upcoming spring and a final “Now you tell me if you’ve got something stressing you out, you hear?” Bilbo suggested that Hamfast get back to his children and avoid the worst of the incoming blizzard. Chuckling at Hamfast’s grumbling, Bilbo ushered him out, helping him with the bags of goods for the family.

“Nothing’s stopping your Samwise from talking to that Rosie girl but himself!” Bilbo laughed when Hamfast shot him an exasperated look. “Look,” Bilbo conceded, “Your Sam’s just a quiet one, and that’s fine. The boy’s going to have to find out how to do this his own-” Bilbo opened his door to a chest covered in what looked to be an expensive woolen coat.

Bilbo looked up into a stern face with a neatly-trimmed dark beard, a protruding nose, and a pair of eyes that made Bilbo’s chest feel like the cold outside had settled into his own lungs. Thorin and Bilbo looked at each other with almost equal amounts of surprise for a long moment. Finally gathering his wits about him, Bilbo turned to Hamfast and said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that I had other company due. Do you need help getting back home? It seems a bit dicey out there.” Hamfast just rolled his eyes and bustled past the two, “No need for that, Mr. Baggins. Two houses down is hardly a quest, even with this much food weighing me down.” On the edge of the porch he stopped and looked back, “You have my number if you need anything, William.”

Peeking around Thorin’s shoulder, Bilbo just smiled and waved, at which Hamfast turned and slowly disappeared into the downfall. After Hamfast had gone far enough that he was no longer visible, Bilbo sighed and backed away from the door and gave Thorin an expectant look. When all received was a hesitant look, Bilbo gestured for him to come inside and said slowly, “It’s cold out there. Come in.”

Thorin nodded and stepped back into Bilbo’s house for the first time in a long time.  
\-----  
As soon as he had realized just who had sent the package, Thorin had organized a few days off as quickly as he could, citing a personal emergency. With only a promise to his nephews to return a few days later at most, he took off from the flat he owned right next to Dis and drove from Newquay to York in a single stretch, silently hoping that the return on the address on the package was Bilbo’s address. By the time he reached York, it had been snowing for hours and roads were just slick with ice and slush was simply everywhere. Thorin pulled into one of the older subdivisions in one of the smaller suburbs of the city, quietly taking in all of the houses through the heavy snowfall.

After more circles through the neighborhood than he would admit, Thorin found the address he was looking for. He parked his car on what he could only guess was the curb opposite to the house and got out, flipping the collar of his coat up and trudging determinedly towards the house. However when he reached the top of the stairs leading to the porch, whatever part of him that had been driving him to find Bilbo again lost all of its steam.

It occurred to Thorin that Bilbo could very well not want to see him, and that certainly was a very valid feeling. And even if Bilbo did want to see him, what the hell was Thorin going to say? “I’m sorry that I betrayed your trust for a rock and some gold in a past life. Would you like to get a beer?” Even without the snowfall around him, Thorin knew that was a ridiculous idea in and out. But still, he had come this far and if nothing else, Bilbo deserved to knew that he was remembered as well.

Just as he strengthened his resolve to tough this out and strode over to the door though, the choice was taken out of his hands as the door swung inwards and he came face-to-face with someone who could only be Bilbo.

If Thorin had not already been hiding no small amount of affection to Bilbo before, it certainly would have struck him the moment he laid eyes on the other. Bilbo’s hair was shorter but no less curly and framed his face in a way he didn’t remember. The nose, the eyes, his relative height, even the creases in his face however were the same, and Thorin felt such a wave of affection come over him that he felt out of breath. He almost didn’t notice the other person exit around him, arms laden with several sacks bulging and fondly griping at Bilbo for something.

It was then and only then did Bilbo allow him into his house. After toeing off his shoes in the entryway, Thorin followed Bilbo, who had retreated back into a kitchen that, strangely enough, had most of its horizontal surfaces covered in muffins of every type. Bilbo bustled about the kitchen, putting on the kettle and bringing out two mugs and setting a few of the sweets next to the sink onto a plate. As the water boiled, they spoke not a word and Thorin wanted to do nothing more than scream about just how _sorry he was._

Finally, Bilbo stopped his fidgeting and poured them both a mug of tea and set it down on the breakfast bar where Thorin had been hovering. Taking a seat on the tall stool, he gestured towards the one next to him. “Come on then.” 

They sat drinking their tea in silence, neither of them really tasting it. The tension was almost becoming too much for Thorin when Bilbo set down his mug with a louder _thunk_ than was strictly necessary.

“You came,” he said calmly, “I didn’t think you’d actually come.”

“Yes. I-” Oh god none of his board meetings or speech classes had ever prepared him for this. “I didn’t know that you were… alive and that you remembered until I got your book.”

“I found out about a week ago. When I finished the book I sent you.”

“Oh.”

Quiet settled over them once again until Thorin broke it with, “You write often?”

Bilbo sighed, “Yes, it’s more for fun than a living but… yes. Not as exciting as adventuring but I think I got my fair share of _that._ ”

Thorin winced, but took his deepest breath and-

“ _ **I’m so sorry.**_ ”

Thorin looked up from the plate of danishes he had been staring into and over to Bilbo, who was opening and closing his mouth, before snapping it shut and adapting a very pinched expression. Thorin waited for Bilbo to say anything at all.

“After you… and the battle, I went back to the Shire, just in time to catch Lobelia selling off everything of mine she so well pleased, mind you. But after that I- shit.” Bilbo’s long exhale at this point seemed to pain him. “You know, you always plan grand old speeches for these kinds of meetings and when it comes down to it, they just-” Even Bilbo’s vague hand motion looked pained.

Bilbo’s eyes settled back into the depths of his tea and he brought up his left hand to bite at his thumb absently. Thorin however stayed completely still, not knowing how much more Bilbo had to say. The once-burglar eventually took his hand away from his mouth and jerkily placed it around him mug before continuing softly.

“I have a nephew, Frodo. He came to live with me, a long time after I came back. He saved the world, you know. A-and after he left I traveled to Rivendell where I started really writing.” Thorin just nodded and murmured, “You didn’t travel much after then?”

A rasping, ugly laugh left Bilbo. “I was over a hundred! And I- I was alone. Thorin, **I was so alone.** ” The sudden weight of the words made Thorin want to curl up, but Bilbo kept on talking without pause, eyes still fixed firmly into his tea.

“After I got back I was spent. Your death and Fili and Kili’s just- it just ate away at me. And then half the Shire wanted nothing to do with me and the other half-” The scoff sounded wrong on Bilbo’s breath. “The other half wanted fairy stories! Friends were few and my family was mostly disinterested and everything seemed just so dull and I had no idea how to talk about the state of my tomatoes when all I wanted to do was talk to someone about losing my _best friends_ and I-”

Taking a deep shuddering breath, Bilbo finally squeezed out, “I was so alone.” The words were halting and hung in the air long after they were uttered. Thorin patiently waited for Bilbo to say what he needed to, however it quickly became apparent that Bilbo had nothing more to say. Thorin took a deep breath, and then another, only to find that his words failed him and there was nothing he could say to make this better.  
\-----  
‘He isn’t saying anything why isn’t he saying anything?!’ Bilbo’s thoughts sounded borderline hysterical even to himself. And so they sat awhile without a sound, again. Then Thorin started rumbling something and it almost made Bilbo jump he was so wound up.

“I did not know that you lived so long… after. I never thought of it.” Something sour built up behind Bilbo’s teeth and he murmured, “Even though it was you dying when you left.” A dry chuckle, “Self-centered, I know.”

Despite himself, Bilbo reached for the brand of humor that Thorin often inspired in him, “At least you admit it.” The results were mixed as Thorin barked out a self-depreciative laugh of, “Some things do change.”

“…I really am sorry. I betrayed you, and I had no right to- to cast you aside.” The apology made Bilbo release a breath that he didn’t know he was holding, “…thank you. I’m glad you still mean that.” It was as if a major knot of tension in the air around them loosened and they both felt like breathing wasn’t quite as hard. Thorin smiled to himself and absently began peering around the room, not knowing what else to do with himself.

At the sudden weight that rested upon his arm though, Thorin looked over and was bemused to see Bilbo’s head resting there. He curled into the contact, enjoying the warmth he had quietly craved for longer than he would like to admit. “Were you planning on going anywhere?” Bilbo murmured, and Thorin followed his gaze to look outside where the blizzard had only gotten worse. “I can leave if you want me to.”

“No, it’s fine.” The phrase warmed something in Thorin that only rejoiced further when Bilbo followed it with “I rather think that it would be nice to get to know you again.” Thorin smiled down at the strange, small being before taking another slow sip of his tea. “Now,” he started, “What was that about your nephew saving the world?”

**Author's Note:**

> Okkep! I do hope that you enjoyed this (if you did, please tell me! If not, please tell me why not!). UM. If you would like to see more work done in this story line, please let me know 'cause I would like to explore this universe a bit more if other people like it.
> 
> Have a lovely day and an even lovelier new year!


End file.
